Underneath the Brilliance
by storylover18
Summary: When Sherlock gets the flu, John sees that underneath all that brilliance is just a human being. One-shot, fluff - no slash.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. **

**Hello! This is my first Sherlock story … I've only seen Season One so far, and waiting desperately on Season Two (if you recall how Season One ended, you'll share my pain in not knowing what happens next!). Anyways, I hope I got the details right … feel free to point anything out if it's wrong. Enjoy =) **

"Sherlock?" John called through the open door of their flat. He had just come off a day shift at the surgery and found the front door standing wide open. John peered cautiously through the opening, remembering the days when he didn't have to worry about who might be lurking in his home, waiting for his arrival.

"Sherlock, are you here?"

Sherlock's coat was thrown haphazardly on a chair but was no sign of him. John walked down the hallway, wrinkling his nose as he passed the bathroom. He would have to speak to Sherlock about doing experiments in the bathtub; the kitchen was bad enough. Sherlock's bedroom door was closed tightly and John knocked.

"Sherlock, are you in there?"

John didn't hear anything but could feel the heat radiating out from the crack under the door. Curious, he turned the knob and allowed the door to swing open slowly.

"Shut the door, quickly!" Sherlock exclaimed and John complied, immediately peeling off his own coat. Sherlock's room was boiling hot, with several floor heaters plugged in. Sherlock was perched on his bed, leaning against the wall, wrapped in several blankets. John caught sight of his blue dressing gown under the wrappings.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm sitting here."

John rolled his eyes.

"I can see that, I'm not blind. Why is it so warm in here?"

"Warm?" Sherlock asked incredulously. "It's freezing in here."

"Freezing? Are you serious?"

When Sherlock didn't crack a smile, the doctor had his answer.

"Besides freezing," John used the world loosely. "What else are you doing?"

"Meditating."

"Meditating." John said, almost mockingly.

"Yes. I am trying to stop the pounding in my head."

"The pounding in your - "

John stopped mid-sentence, the pieces falling into place; the heaters, the headache, the smell from the bathroom. John put a hand to his mouth to hide his smile.

"Sherlock, has it occurred to you that you might be ill?"

"I never get ill."

John merely raised an eyebrow at his friend. The more he studied the tall man, the more his suspicions were confirmed. Sherlock's eyes were glassy, bright beacons amidst a pale complexion that was highlighted with rosy cheeks.

"You do now." John said.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've never felt better, besides the driving force in my left temple."

"Sherlock, I employ you to see reason. You have a headache."

"Lots of people get headaches."

"You threw up your lunch."

"I did not. I didn't eat lunch."

"So you threw up your breakfast."

"I believe the eggs were bad."

"You have a fever."

"I do not."

"Sherlock, for goodness sake, you are a consulting detective. You website is called the science of deduction. If you take into account your appearance and surroundings, you most definitely have a fever."

"I will not believe it until you prove it."

"Fine. I will be right back."

John left the roasting bedroom and returned a moment later with the thermometer from his leather doctor's bag.

"Open."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the glass device as John held it up to his lips.

"If you don't do it this way, we'll have to use an alternative method and believe me, this is more pleasant for the both of us."

Scowling, Sherlock allowed the device to pass through his lips. John studied his watch and Sherlock, still leaning against the wall, closed his eyes. He was startled awake when John removed the thermometer. He studied it and then held it out to Sherlock triumphantly.

"What did I tell you? One hundred and one point seven."

"Oh dear." Sherlock said. "John, I believe I'm ill."

John chuckled.

"Then it's good fortune for you that I am a doctor. Have you eaten anything at all since breakfast?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"What about medicine?"

"Nothing. I can't keep anything down."

"You haven't even had anything to drink since this morning?" John exclaimed. "No wonder you feel so awful."

John left the room and returned with a big glass of water.

"Drink this."

He handed the cup to Sherlock, who had stuck a hand out of his cocoon. He began sipping it slowly while John unplugged the heaters and opened a window. Sherlock shivered as he handed the mostly full glass back to John.

"Is that all you can manage?"

Sherlock nodded, reminding John very much of a small child. He decided he would try again later and began unwrapping Sherlock's several layers of blankets.

"Get into bed."

Sherlock did as he was told and laid down, closing his eyes as John covered him with his feather duvet.

"Do you still feel like you're going to be sick?"

"It comes and goes." Sherlock answered, eyes closed. John left and returned a moment later with a waste basket lined with a plastic bag. He placed it by Sherlock's bed before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a bottle of pills. He shook two into his hand and gave them to Sherlock, who shook his head.

"Just try." John insisted. "The worst that's going to happen is that you can't keep them down."

Sherlock, too tired to argue, swallowed the pills.

"I'll be down the hall if you need anything." John said, turning off the light. He hoped his patient would get some sleep so this bug would be short-lived. Although he had never seen Sherlock ill before, he had a pretty good idea that he would not be an easy patient once he felt even just a smidge better.

Not an hour later, John heard Sherlock pathetically calling his name. Putting his cup of tea on the end table, John ventured down the hallway.

"What's wrong?"

"I am so hot." Sherlock had kicked off all the blankets and was sprawled atop his bed. John turned the light on and felt Sherlock's cheek.

"It's just the fever."

"Can you make it go away?"

"I'm afraid not." John smiled internally at Sherlock's lack of knowledge. He was sure that there would never be another situation that would put him as the most knowledgeable - not counting knowing the Prime Minister or the order of the planets, that is.

"I'll be right back." John once again left and returned with a damp facecloth. "This should help cool you off, plus help the headache." John added as he laid the compress on Sherlock's forehead.

"That is divine." Sherlock sighed with relief. "Thank you, John."

"Try to get some sleep." John said dryly.

* * *

Much to John's relief, Sherlock was quiet for the rest of the evening. John peeked in on him before heading upstairs to bed and found the consulting detective snoring loudly. John fell into his own bed, tired out from the days' events, and fell fast asleep. He didn't wake until he heard a door slam. Sitting straight up, John realized it was still dark outside; his clock read 2:47 AM. Sure he had heard a noise, John got out of bed and pulling on his dressing gown, went downstairs.

"Sherlock, are you okay?"

The light in the hallway was on and John saw the bathroom door closed. He cringed as he heard his friend violently be sick. Not wishing to be privy to the scene, John sat by the bathroom door and waiting until it clicked open. He scrambled to his feet.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his observations answering his question better than Sherlock's words could. In fact, he didn't even give Sherlock a chance to answer before taking his arm and leading him back to his bedroom. Sherlock, allowing himself to be coddled, fell into bed again.

"What is wrong with me? I feel as though I should be dying."

"Trust me, you are not dying." John said, laying his hand on the flushed cheek. "You merely have a touch of flu."

"This is a touch? Then what is the full-blown flu like?"

"It's just a saying, Sherlock. Do you feel better after being sick?"

Sherlock mumbled something, already lost in a fever-induced sleep. John, deciding to try and get something into Sherlock, went to the kitchen. He found some applesauce in a jar under the cupboard – surprised that it hadn't expired yet, seeing as he had no idea when it got there. John spooned some into a bowl before breaking up a couple of capsules and stirring in their contents. He found a fresh compress and put them, along with a cup of cold water, on a tray.

"Sherlock, can you sit up a little bit for me?"

Sherlock groaned slightly but did as the good doctor requested. John slipped the thermometer into his mouth and when the specified time had passed, was relieved to find that Sherlock's temperature hadn't gone up. Granted, it hadn't gone down but a low fever was better than a high one.

"I need you to eat this, Sherlock." John held up the small bowl of applesauce. What little blood was left in Sherlock's face drained and John saw his friend swallow at the sight of food.

"You need to try and get something into your system."

Sherlock closed his eyes, mentally gearing himself for the task.

"This is mind over matter." Sherlock said aloud before opening his eyes and taking the bowl. John watched, hopeful, as Sherlock ate the entire bowl.

"Good." John said encouragingly, accepting the empty dish. He handed Sherlock the water and watched him drink more than he had earlier that evening.

"You can lie down again." John said, taking the cup and replacing the old cup on the nightstand. "Let's hope that stays down."

Sherlock merely nodded as John applied the fresh compress. As quietly as he could, John gathered the tray and left the room, Sherlock already sleeping again.

* * *

John climbed back into his bed wearily, the clock now reading 4:02 AM. Glad he didn't have to work the next morning, and hoping that Sherlock would sleep soundly, John turned out his light and fell asleep instantly.

* * *

When John next awoke, the sun was shining in the window. He sat up, realizing it was well into the morning, and remembered his patient. The flat silent, John crept down the stairs and peeked into Sherlock's room. Sherlock was still sleeping and John could see by the colour in his face that his fever was gone. John smiled; it was nice to know that Sherlock needed him sometimes. Albeit, those moments seemed extremely rare but it was comforting to know there was somewhat of a human being under that brilliant mind. Closing the door quietly, John went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.

**Reviews are always appreciated =) **


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